I Can’t Let You…
I Can’t Let You…
My right calf muscle
Has got a flower shaped
Bruise from a bite
my daughter gave me
that one time I said
no, and it was hot, and she
was hungry.
It matches the one
on my right bicep
that I got in terror.
You see, my son
hates needles and
he required a shot.
“Do they ever mind?” My father
asks, reminding me again,
how his father used
the belt.
“I’m sorry that happened
to you.” Is all I can think to say
My flower-bruises
blooming more beautifully
underneath my skin.